Shutter Count
by Impish Arrow
Summary: CH2: Third choice scenario. When it comes down to it, Chaos Theory is all about mathematics. / / Just another oneshot collection. Spontaneous updates. Accepting requests.
1. Text Dot GIF

**Summary:** A quiet morning amid Chaos Week in Arcadia Bay. Chloe's left alone with her thoughts and an opportunity she just can't resist.

 **Genre:** General/Contemplative fluff

* * *

"Well fuck."

Chloe leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring at her thoroughly shat computer. In all fairness she'd run the dumpy little yard-sale reject (who she'd affectionately nicknamed Matilda) through some pretty proverbially filthy back doors trying to dig up dirt on Nathan and the rest of the Prescott's. Poor thing was probably dripping in disease.

 _HPV, the Clap, and computer AIDS. You_ _could definitely use_ _a shower,_ _m'dear_ _._

Fortunately _t_ he steampunk knew a thing or two about having a little bit of protection to fall back on when you were slumming it with scum. She pulled up the right program and turned it loose on her laptop's hard drive.

 _Purge, diva._

Getting up from the desk for the first time in hours, she stretched, taking a moment to enjoy the satisfying crack that had settled in her joints before swiping on her hi-fi and flopping back on an equally abused mattress.

Max had laid down and all but passed out somewhere around 3AM, mumbling some hipstery excuse about 'meditating' over information they had gathered. The blue-haired bandit couldn't bring herself to hold it against her – what with all the reality bending hijinks and feats of kickass heroism, if anyone deserved a break, it was Max Caulfield.

Chloe snagged her ashtray off a neighboring pile of junk and lit up, savoring the smooth green wave of calm that gnawed away at concerns. She wasn't entirely sure what time it was, but the blackness outside her window had already begun to soften, so either morning was right on their asses or more time-travel related eco-terrorism was going down.

There wasn't anything she could do about it at any rate, even if she hadn't been totally wired on about half of all of Arcadia's natural supply of coffee and sugar, so she just kicked back and studied the ceiling for a while.

She felt her brunette friend shift, rolling away and tugging at the blanket trapped under the weight of her reclined form.

"Ew, Chloe," the photographer complained sluggishly, more asleep than anything else. Her freckled nose wrinkled as she attempted to burrow down into the sheets, away from the curls of whitewash smoke.

The offender huffed fondly, taking one last, long drag before retiring what very little was left of her joint and setting the ashtray off to the side.

"Killjoy," she deadpanned, rolling onto her side and propping herself up on an elbow.

A week ago, if someone had asked her what she thought of a certain Max Caulfield, Chloe Price would have had some pretty nasty things to say. Her deceptively fragile heart was still wounded and festering by years of betrayal fed on static silence. And if there was one thing the punk could admit about herself, it was that she could be a real asshat when she was hurt.

It'd be an outright lie to pretend there still wasn't _some_ amount of resentment dug deep under her skin like an ugly little wart, but, more than that, the last few days had reminded her why she had ever bothered to love her reinstated partner in crime.

Max was her smartass best friend. She was bright and honest, passionate, talented, and the cornflower-colored delinquent didn't doubt for one second that the girl would walk through fire (or, more importantly, fuck up the very fabric of time) to stay by her side.

 _Can't say I mind the eye-candy either_ , the steampunk confessed silently.

Chloe had always thought of her friend as beautiful, because, back in the day, she was her best friend and they were kids and _of course_ she was beautiful. But it struck her sometime after they'd been reunited (and she had found the time to pull her head almost all the way out her own rage-filled ass) just how _gorgeous_ she'd grown over their five-year separation. Underneath that horribly tired sense of style.

 _But hey, just her dork_ _y_ _smile more than makes up for_ that _._

She snorted at the thought. That old soft-spot she held for her childhood friend had developed into something far less innocent and much more complex in the span of only a few days.

 _In other words, I'm royally fucked._ _Blackwell Boys Beware._

Max stretched slowly, as if she could hear her own name leaking out of Chloe's brain. Her shirt hiked up over her flat stomach as she groaned sweetly.

Her companion grinned at the opportunity.

"You know," she drawled playfully, her free hand taking advantage of the now misplaced garment to trace a line along the exposed skin, "Usually I have to work at least a little harder to get that kinda porn-standard greeting in the morning. You're too easy, Hippie."

Her bedmate slanted one bleary eye at her, her gaze a dull, stormy blue in the filtered gray light of predawn.

"Settled," she hummed groggily, rubbing fists against her sleep-drunk eyes. "I'm leaving you a negative review on Yelp."

"Ouch, that's gonna make our elopement hella awkward." Chloe mused.

"S'okay, I'll just rewind and leave you at the altar."

"And run off with who, Schrodinger's Catch?"

Max sat up, a smirky smile tugging at the corner of her mouth as she gave the punk a gentle shove. "Be nice. Warren is a total sweetheart."

"Gag. You know I'm way hotter than Beakers McGee," she winked, sitting up and leaning back on her palms. "But I do owe him for taking the smackdown from that Prescott prick the other day. I guess if you really want to give him a one-time pass, we can celebrate the good ol' French tradition of _ménage à trois._ "

"Gross. Now I really do need a shower, but I don't think even boiling acid could burn that suggestion out of my brain."

"Uh-huh, right, just admit it. You're picturing me naked," Chloe grinned rakishly, enjoying the tiny touch of red that colored her friend's face.

"Yeah whatever," Max waved her off as she rolled out of bed and moved for the bedroom door, "For all you know, I _have_ actually seen you naked. Timelord, remember?"

"Turn the showerhead right for 'massage!'"

The brunette took a moment to flip her friend the bird before disappearing into the relative peace of the darkened hallway.

The Rebel Queen of Arcadia Bay turned over on her stomach, forearms propped under her chin as she listened to the shower kick on. For sure, Max was pretty damn cute when she thought she was being a hardass. She was like a dorky little housecat pretending to be a tiger. It was just so awkward and endearing.

 _Dweeb_ _._

She listened as the water pumped through the noisy pipework of her childhood home, entertaining herself by wondering what might happen if she decided to shower bomb the photographer when she was off her guard.

 _Cheater would probably just use her rewind and get the drop on me._

Besides things had taken on a different tone between the two since they'd been thrown back together by fate or destiny or time or whatever the hell you wanted to chalk it up to.

Like that kiss? That was definitely not retro Caulfield and Price.

She bit back the cheesy grin threatening to uproot her carefully schooled expression. Chloe had been trying hard to just brush the whole thing off as a lame joke but that dumb, giddy feeling flopping around her chest like a flock of concussed butterflies just wouldn't let up. Fuck it all if she thought she was beyond that phase of her life. Apparently even someone as emotionally constipated as herself could fall hard, fast, and rough with the right inspiration.

The dare had actually been thrown out on a whim. She hadn't really been expecting shy, conservative Max of all people to step up and call her on it. Then again, she didn't really have anything to lose if she _d_ _id_. Chloe had tossed her hat in on both sides of the sexuality poll with varying degrees of reckless abandon, but if anything she'd come to prefer female company. She had absolutely _no_ qualms about kissing dorky hot lady time travelers who also happen to be her best friend.

 _Shit, sign me up._ _I'll take every shift on the calendar._

Still, that didn't stop it from being a surprise.

This Max seemed to be all the best kind of different and same as the one she remembered. She was still that sweet, naive little thing that cared too much and wanted to capture the beauty of the world through the lens of her camera, but there was a certain spark in her eye now. It was easy to miss if you didn't think to look, but there was a certain lift to her chin, a confidence in the way she carried herself even if where she carried herself happened to be off to the side and out of the spotlight. She wasn't _afraid_ of anyone. The power-blue punk had actually been _startled_ when her freckled friend swooped in and laid one on her.

 _Caulfield's got cajones, credit where it's due._

She pressed a thumb to her lower lip thoughtfully, wishing for the umpteenth time that she hadn't chosen that precise moment to go all stumble-jump Jane Eyre. Maybe she could convince Max to let her borrow the rewind for half a minute and she could go back and put her money where her mouth was..? Fat chance.

 _Missed opportunity my asshole. Get ready,_ _y_ _ou're mine next time Mad Max._

Her eyes flickered over to the vacant half of her bed.

 _Which reminds me…_

She smiled deviously, swooping down on the newest object of her attention.

Chloe didn't waste time snooping. She tapped in the compulsory four-digit pin and dragged her finger across the screen to the brunette's saved contacts, quickly memorizing the number she wanted before snatching up her own phone and punching it into a blank message.

 **Chloe:** **heyo this is bill nye without the bowtie yea** **h** **?**

She hadn't really been expecting much of an immediate response (now that she had her phone in hand she realized it was just barely 5:30AM), but low and behold the topclass academics of Blackwell apparently didn't mind waking up before the sun lifted an asscrack to the sky. Her phone chirped back before she had even had the chance to set it down.

 **Warren: My friends just call me Science Guy**

 **Warren: What can I do for you, nameless stranger?**

 **Chloe: nothing dude** **this is chloe**

 **Chloe:** **punk** **with the truck** **mon**

 **Chloe: just wanted to say thx for lookin out for max** **and** **taking a** **shit** **from prickscott**

 **Warren: Ooh you must be the pirate she was talking about**

 **Warren: Glad you were there. Max** **imus Prime** **is the best.**

 **Warren: She doesn't deserve to get hassled by jerks like Nathan Prescott.**

 **Chloe: fr srsly owe you one bro**

The stage diver paused, thumbs hovering over the touchscreen keyboard. Warren Graham seemed like a genuinely alright person, she felt a strange mix of sympathy, solidarity, and baseless jealousy for the poor guy. He was pretty obviously head over heels, sap-tastically smitten with their little time traveling counterpart, as indifferent as she was. Still, she felt a bit out of place trying to give him the lowdown on her own undefined future with the girl, no matter how stupidly confident she might be.

Fortunately, he saved her the trouble.

 **Warren:** **So you guys must be pretty good friends then..?**

 **Chloe: pretty much**

 **Chloe: fell outta touch for a few years**

 **Chloe: but now were back together rockin** **i** **t old school**

 **Warren: Hang on. Queueing up Peaches & Herb for you**

 **Chloe: fuq yea**

 **Chloe: fr tho ur not the only one with chemistry**

 **Chloe: if u know what I mean**

 **Warren: Ba-dum tss**

 **Chloe: and** **yesterday** **she put the mack down here** **soo**

 **Warren: Damn, Max Rider layin** **out** **th** **ose** **good** **moves...**

 **Chloe: well u seem cool dude**

 **Chloe: just wanted to give u a heads up**

 **Warren: Let the best man win?**

The water cut off in the other room as her hi-fi drifted into silence. The sound of the glass door sliding along its track seemed to echo in the displaced quiet of her room before her friend padded in from across the hallway, burnish brown hair a shade or two darker as it dripped down her shoulders and splashed her toes.

"Miss me, Otter?" Chloe chimed, distracted from her phone as she was suddenly reminded of a particular break-in adventure at a certain Blackwell swimming pool. The stupid concussed butterflies started seizing around her insides like some kind of wonderful but also collectively awful acid trip.

"Always. Though I have to say I'm a little surprised I didn't have to bust you on a shower-time sneak attack," the photographer chuckled lightly, toweling her sopping wet locks as she settled herself on the end of the bed.

"Thought about it. You know me too well, Caulfield. Wanna rewind and I'll scrub your back?"

"Something tells me you'd wanna collect interest on that kinda offer."

"Duh, that's just good business model."

"You're such a charmer."

"So that's a yes?"

"Rain check."

"Tease." Chloe reached out and toed her in the ribs, earning a ticklish squeal in response.

She jumped out of the reach of her friend's blind, retaliatory swatting with a devilish grin. Tapping out a quick response to her new pal before unceremoniously tossing her phone to the side and launching an all out, military grade attack.

From here on out, she was determined to seize what chances she got, shitstorm or not.

 **Chloe: fuq yea**

* * *

 **AN : **Thanks for reading, drop me a review and a favorite if you're too cool for school (no emoji).

Just a brief, clarifying note here. I've left this fic open as a multi-chapter story, but just consider it the place I dump my LiS oneshots. Some of them might be connected at some point eventually, but don't expect any degree of continuity here. Most will focus on Max and/or Chloe or some aspect of their relationship, but a different character prompt may ghost its way in from time to time. I'll try to include a brief summary of the content at the head of each chapter. Rated M mostly for language, but possible darker/adult themes somewhere down the line will be flagged appropriately in the chapter head.

If you have any suggestions or prompts you'd like me to shamelessly exploit, throw it down in the review box below!

Peace.


	2. Variables

**Summary:** Third choice scenario. When it comes down to it, Chaos Theory is all about mathematics.

 **Genre:** Tragedy, Hurt/Comfort

* * *

The picture trembles in her hands and she wishes that she'd never taken the damn thing. The wind shrieks as it bares down on her pale, cold fingers, begging to carry the memory away. She wants to let it. She wants to tear the fucking thing in half and let the storm swallow it whole.

"Chloe," her voice cracks. She feels like everything inside is breaking. "I can't… How could I… You're–"

Her best friend pulls her close as the words refuse to justify her thoughts, wrapping her up in a tight hug. "You can. And it's gonna be okay, I promise," she whispers as she melts into her shoulder, her warm cheek pressed firmly to the side of her neck.

Max crushes herself in the embrace. Trying to memorize everything she can about the moment, about Chloe and her blue hair and her foul mouth and how it feels to be trapped in her arms with the scent of cigarettes and seared leather. So familiar but all so equally new, hauntingly intimate yet doomed to be entirely unrequited, forgotten.

And just like that it's over. She's pulled away, hands still locked on her shoulders, looking at her seriously. Her confidence is only an echo of what the photographer remembers. "We have to save everyone, okay? And you'll make those fuckers pay for what they did to Rachel."

Max nods painfully, unable to find the words to comfort her best friend. Her best friend she was about to let bleed to death, alone on a dirty bathroom floor with no memory of their time together, thinking for all the world that no one gave two shits about her. She wouldn't remember the things they'd seen together or the moments they'd shared. She wouldn't know the sacrifice she was making, that her death meant saving the lives of every other living person in Arcadia Bay.

Chloe Elizabeth Price would die an unfair, angry, tragic death and there was nothing Max Caulfield could do about it.

And still _she_ stood to reassure _her_.

"Being together this week… it's been best farewell gift that I could have asked for." She tips a thumb under her chin, effectively pinning her to that moment in time. "You're my hero, Max."

She can't think. She can't even bring herself to say anything. Her heart aches and her thoughts are numb, so she leans forward and does the only thing she wants to do in that exact space of existence.

Their lips fit together sweetly. For a second she allows herself to forget everything and just be a girl in love with her best friend. Damp fingers thread through silky, wet hair, warm breath tickles her face as chilled hands pull softly at her hips. She wants to stop time and live in the moment forever, where she can taste her lips and feel the life pulsing just beneath her fingers.

But time has never been on her side.

Whatever she has left inside shatters as they finally part. They both know it's time.

Chloe nods and her words tilt, resolve battling self-possessed terror over what they were about to change. "Just remember, everything's going to be fine. Chaos Theory, remember?"

Max blinks, the term seizing in her mind with a flurry of calculated disarray. "Chaos Theory?" There was something there, it teased her with a desperate sort of misplaced humor. "As in mathematics, equations… probability..."

Her gaze flits between Chloe and the storm, the fingers of her right hand flexing restlessly.

"And variables." The sick feeling anchored in her chest releases some of its suffocating pressure as the wind roars in her ears.

"Max?"

"You're right," she replies, slowly edging back as the polariod in her hand begins to whisper. "Everything's going to be okay. I promise."

"Hey," her friend reaches for her, confusion and a new form of dread creeping into her voice as she struggles to gauge whatever shift just occurred. "You're not… Are you... Did you just say 'variables?'"

Understanding strikes with unmasked panic.

It takes every ounce of Max's willpower to focus on the image in her hands, knowing at any second it could be torn away in intervention. But as the world turns white around her, she stares up into the beginnings of the abyss and smiles gently.

"I'll always love you."

* * *

 _Monday, October 7th – 3:23PM_

"Where'd you get that? What are you doing? Come on, put that thing down!"

"Don't ever tell me what to do. I'm so SICK of people trying to control me!"

"You're gonna get in hella more trouble for this than drugs–"

"No one would even miss your 'punk ass' would they?"

"Get that gun–"

Max marched out from around the corner of the stall, channeling every ounce of determination she could draw on. It wasn't hard. Listening to him threaten the girl that had come to mean everything to her, knowing what he had done to her, what he'd done to Rachel, what he'd done to help that monster… In that moment, it didn't matter that Nathan Prescott was also a victim. He was about to become a murderer. Again. And for the briefest moment she was the absolute image of righteous fury.

"Hey, fuck weasel!" she growled, fists clenched at her side.

Two sets of eyes whirled around on her. Max didn't even have time to note Chloe's reaction, try to measure if there was any degree of recognition there, before the trigger pulled. It was so fast. She didn't even see it happen, barely registered hearing it. Then she was on the ground.

 _Well shit,_ she mused dryly. She had known she was going to die but she had at least been hoping the readiness of that sentiment might have granted her a small moment of unparalleled badassery where she remained standing and delivered some jauntily prepared one-liner in the face of her killer's shock.

"Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit..."

But it was fine. This was the price she had to pay. It was all about Chaos Theory. The only way to change to outcome of an equation was to adjust the variables. A major addition to the original solution requires a major subtraction to reroute the probability of the outcome to its original format. It didn't matter what the shape of the variable taken away was, as long as it was of equal value.

"Max!"

Her eyes popped open. Oh right, she hadn't realized they'd been closed. The world seemed too dark, a little fuzzy. She couldn't feel the pain yet but she was sure it was coming. She wondered if numbness had anything to do with the adrenaline. Or maybe it was just shock. Whatever.

She wasn't sure where she'd been shot but Chloe was there, she recognized the blue. Nathan was there, too, pacing back and forth like a panicked animal. He had abandoned the gun though. Good. That meant everyone else was safe.

"I think I got it right this time," she smiled dreamily. She felt Chloe's hands pressed hard against her chest. It made it so hard to breathe.

"Fuck Max. You weren't supposed to be here. Why did you have to be here? Just… fuck, you're bleeding so much." Her voice wavered. Was she crying? She shouldn't be crying. But it was so hard to focus.

"Duh. I was shot," she intoned lamely. There was a deep burning, she couldn't tell where it was, but it rolled against her nerves in waves.

A moment of silence passed between them. Or maybe not. She couldn't be bothered to concentrate. She vaguely remembered a deeper voice speaking with authoritative urgency, then Chloe sounded farther away and suddenly Nathan was gone. There was a lot of jumbled noise from somewhere off in the distance.

"You saved my life..."

"I wanted to." Yeah, she was definitely crying. Chloe shouldn't cry, it made her sad. She should make some dumb jab and call her an asshole or something. That would be better.

"Damnit, how am I supposed to be pissed at you for flaking on me now after you went all Hero Ninja and saved my dumb ass?" It sounded weird. Off. Like she was trying to joke through tears.

"Sucks to be you, I guess..."

Max tried to grit her teeth as the pain racked her body, but it was like she'd been drugged again. She could hardly move. She couldn't even find the air to scream. "Chloe..."

"Max…? Max! C'mon, just keep talking to me. Don't go to sleep."

"It hurts..."

Her brows furrowed together as the pain momentarily passed. She realized her eyes had closed again and forced them open.

" _I_ would have missed you," she confessed, the words flipped around her mouth like warm, messy soup. "So much, Chloe… God, I'm so sorry… So so…so so sorry."

"Don't you dare apologize. I don't care about that shit anymore. You're here now. Just stay awake. Please, just stay awake."

"Mmm… I can't… Chaos Theory…"

"Max, screw your shitty math homework."

"Everything's… gonna be… okay… I promised."

"Shit! Where the hell is that goddamn ambulance?"

The darkness crept over her vision but she couldn't find the presence of mind to be properly disturbed by it. She could feel her consciousness fading fast.

"Chloe… My journal… You should take it… I want you to."

"What? I can't just... Jesus, you're gonna be fine–"

" _Please_."

"...Okay." Someone was sobbing now, but it was too far away. She wasn't sure where. When did hearing things get so hard?

"And Chloe Price… Don't you… _ever_ … forget about me..."

"Never."

* * *

 **AN : **Thanks for reading. Drop me a review because you're just rad like that.

Peace.


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